


Cream

by Anonymous



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Feeding Kink, Feedism, Fluff, Internalized Kink Shaming, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Roger is chubby, Stuffing, Weight Gain, and brian doesnt know what to do w himself, freddie likes to tease, its poly queen but the feedist side is just maylor, post-coital dysphoria i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 17:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19381378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Brian had spent a lot of time wondering where all the weight had come from. There were obvious answers to the question- Brian woke up late in an empty bed on Sunday morning and meandered into the kitchen to see Roger sat on the bench eating peanut butter out of the jar with a teaspoon. Yes, okay, Brian thought, flushing. The real question was why.





	Cream

**Author's Note:**

> my friends: write some things!  
> me: no motivation to write things!  
> me: 5k of unspeakable fetish content later
> 
> and that babes is how comes we're on anon today ahaha
> 
> set in the early 70s, before any albums, but honestly the timeline is probably a mess

“Oh… darling. No.”

 

Brian resisted the urge to look up from his textbook. He really did. Alas, and wondering once again why he had chosen to work at the dining room table, he let his eyes flicker up to examine what exactly had Freddie’s voice distorting with disapproval.

 

Freddie was knelt in front of a large cardboard box, eyebrows furrowed just slightly. Crumpled clothing was draped over the edges, in piles on the floor, in his hands. Roger was the object of his dissent, Roger having just pulled a shirt over his head. It was black, embellished along the neckline with pretty bits (sequins and the like), and very clearly did not fit. It rode up high enough to expose Roger’s navel along with a considerable stretch of his soft, pale abdomen.

 

Brian crossed his legs. Surreptitiously.

 

“It’s not supposed to be cropped,” Freddie continued, and Roger huffed, tugging down the hemline, “Rog—no, it looks cropped, dear.”

 

“Then let it look cropped,” argued Roger, letting go of the hemline. He flicked back the long strands of hair that framed his face and posed with one hip cocked, “I like it. Maybe it’s _better_ cropped—”

 

“We’re selling it,” said Freddie, with an air of finality.

 

Roger, who didn’t like airs of finality, scowled. “We’re not selling it.”

 

“It doesn’t _fit_ , Roger!”

 

Brian eyed the exchange warily, poised to look back down at his papers the moment either of them realised he was. He couldn’t even begin to know how to do anything about the helpless magnetism of his gaze towards Roger’s midsection—it’s gentle roundness, the slight bounce at every movement. The slow upwards slide of the shirt, exposing tantalizing millimetres.

 

“Brimi,” Roger said suddenly, turning towards where Brian was seated. Brian startled, gaze shooting up to his face, eyebrows standing at attention.

 

“Mhm?” he managed.

 

“Brian will tell you. It looks good, right?” Roger said, posing again, this time with a hand on his hip. Freddie scoffed.

 

“As if Brian knows the first thing about—”

 

“He’ll tell you! Bri?” Roger demanded, staring Brian down. Brian found his mouth entirely too dry, his eyes flickering now down to the waistband of Roger’s flares. The button was struggling, for sure. He wondered if, when Roger shimmied them down to change, there were angry red marks to show for the tightness. Conscious of the two pairs of eyes on him, he forced his gaze up once more.

 

“Looks good,” he finally managed, “but Freddie’s right, I’m not any sort of, well. Fashion authority.”

 

“See?” Roger squawked, whipping around to face Freddie so fast that the shirt shifted up an entire two centimetres at the movement.

 

Brian could feel himself flushing, hurriedly looking back down at his textbook.

 

“Both Brian and I think you look gorgeous in anything, Rog,” he could hear Freddie sifting through the box of clothes, “It’s just a perfectly sellable shirt that _does not fit you._ ”

 

It had been months since it would have fit him properly, Brian thought. He couldn’t remember the moment he had realised what exactly was going on, but when they were all living together and fucking together it was hard to miss changes in each other’s bodies. It had certainly been a while since Roger had started putting on weight, when Brian had first noticed the slight softness in his face, the jiggle of his stomach when he or someone else was thrusting into him. Brian could have been seeing things, but it was not long before the clinginess of Roger’s shirts around emerging love handles was undeniable.

 

And now, well. Now he was standing around in a shirt that might have fit fine six months ago, but instead couldn’t reach to cover his bellybutton. Waistband digging into his sides so hard it looked like it must have been painful. Belly exposed and round and having recently, Brian supposed, crossed a line between chubby and, well. Properly fat.

 

Of course it hadn’t gone unnoticed, and all three of his lovers had had, Brian thought, perfectly predictable reactions. John seemed not to mind, but rarely made any special mention. Freddie took care to tease at whatever moment he saw as opportune, though never with real malice. And Brian… Brian ignored it outright. Avoided Roger’s midriff during sex. Spent a lot of time blushing and staring and thinking about what it would be like if he didn’t do so.

 

The unfortunate truth was that Brian loved it. The new weight had only made Roger infinitely sexier to him. But he loved it in a way, and with an intensity, that he couldn’t imagine ever not being terrified of.

 

Freddie ducked down on his way past to give Brian a kiss on the cheek, one hand deep in his curls to angle his head better. “Don’t worry dear,” he hummed, “We’ll be off soon, and out of your hair.”

 

.

 

Roger wore the decidedly cropped shirt to their next gig.

 

Brian was glad he would not have to see him throughout the performance, but he couldn’t help but steal glances while they were unloading equipment and setting up. It looked perhaps even more ill fitting than it had the couple of weeks prior, but then again, Brian knew he was prone to seeing extra pounds where there were probably none. He had paired it with pants that were a sort of silky material—little give, but thankfully a size or two larger than the unfortunate flares.

 

He could put a lot out of his mind when performing. The bar was a tad poorly lit, but a considerable number of patrons seemed interested in them and their music, making it overall a successful evening. Brian removed his guitar at the end of their set and made eye contact with a very sweaty Freddie, who shot him a quick grin.

 

“A drink?” he called over to Brian.

 

Brian hesitated, and John made his way over to interrupt proceedings. “I’ve got an assignment due tomorrow.”

 

“Just one drink,” said Freddie, nodding towards Roger, who was twirling a stick between two fingers as he made his way over. Sweaty too.

 

He feigned staggering forward and stumbled into Brian with a grunt. “God. I’m ravenous.”

 

“A drink!”

 

“Just won’t cut it,” Roger grumbled, nudging Brian with his elbow as if he’d suggested it.

 

“We ate before we left,” Freddie pointed out, scandalised.

 

Roger huffed, “It’s been _hours_. And I’ve been working _so_ hard, you know I’m the heart and soul of this band—”

 

“God, _fine_ ,” Freddie said, a smile twitching at his lips.

 

They stopped at a chippie on the way home. Freddie and Roger, like children, fought over who got to hold the warm newspaper package. John drove in silence, a small smile playing on his face at the sound of the backseat bickering. Brian, in the passenger seat, glanced in the rear view mirror when the pair descended into silence to see that this was because they were now snogging.

 

John glanced as well and snorted. Brian swallowed, because the sight of Freddie’s hand curved over Roger’s plump side was doing things to him he hadn’t foreseen.

 

They didn’t bother unloading the van because it was late and Roger grumbled enough and soon they were back in the flat with the newspaper unfurled on the dining table piled high with greasy gold. Freddie handed Brian a beer with a kiss (which never failed still to make his chest all warm like a fish-and-chip shop package).

 

Brian was certainly fond of chippie fare, and the salt and crunch was good after gig, but it became rapidly clear that Roger was the only one of them with a real enthusiasm for eating. While Freddie ate his portion of fish, John barely picked at his, and when Roger asked if John was going to eat it, it was pushed towards him without hesitation.

 

“Piggy,” teased Freddie. Roger made a noise of faux indignation around the crunch of the batter.

 

Brian felt his whole face grow very hot, and not in a pleasant chippie newspaper way. Panicking, he managed to force himself to wait for a moment before standing up in a way he hoped was covert and mumbling something about the bathroom.

 

Luckily he was soft by the time he reached the loo, but while he washed his hands he could still see the residual blush on his cheeks in the mirror. He sighed heavily. He could feel the stirring of interest in his cock when he thought of Roger’s soft, busy mouth, licking the salt off of his fingers.

 

Fuck.

 

When he returned to the table it seemed Freddie had disappeared and John was on his way out. He smiled when Brian emerged, and stopped to kiss him on the mouth as he made his way past with a quiet “Goodnight.”

 

Roger was still sat at the table, eating the very last of the chips—two at a time in mesmerisingly expert movements. He gazed up at Brian, blinking. Were his eyes half-lidded coquettishly? Brian’s heart skipped a beat but to maintain some normalcy he made his way over, leaning down to kiss Roger atop his head.

 

“Going to bed,” Brian said, taking his almost empty beer bottle and making his way over to the sink.

 

“Mhm,” said Roger, around a mouthful of potato, and upon swallowing, “I’ll join you, soon.”

 

They didn’t always sleep in each other’s beds, but it certainly wasn’t uncommon. Brian took his time getting ready, brushing his teeth and changing into pyjamas, but apparently Roger hadn’t meant soon in a very soon sense. Brian was lying in bed awake for at least half an hour before he heard the sound of Roger in the bathroom, and another ten minutes later he padded into Brian’s room, slipping under the covers.

 

Roger settled himself with his back flush against Brian’s front, demanding spooning. Without thinking, Brian let his hand drift over Roger’s side to rest at the very top of his belly.

 

Oh god. Instantly and simultaneously, Brian froze and Roger let out a little noise that sounded like he might have been burying a moan. Brian’s heartbeat began to quicken, and he was fully prepared to let the silence that followed continue forever and ever until they both fell asleep and could forget about the interaction entirely. But Roger wasn’t one to just leave silences be and he broke it pretty quickly with a whispered, “Sorry. ’M just a bit full.”

 

Brian wondered what Roger had been doing in the kitchen for the half hour he had left him there alone, but he didn’t quite have the courage to ask. Instead, he let his hand slide down the clothed surface of Roger’s belly, breath hitching as he reached his bellybutton and rubbed side to side. Roger let out a succession of little pleased hums.

 

When he grabbed Brian’s hand Brian froze, thinking for a horrific moment he had done something wrong, but Roger simply relocated him to the crest of his stomach. Below, packed tightly, food was churning and Brian felt his face flush at the faint gurgling he could hear. He buried his face into Roger’s hair, inhaling deeply, and tentatively pressed down as he moved his hand across, the cloth sliding over taunt skin.

 

Roger did moan then, properly, and Brian realised all of a sudden that he was not going to be able to keep his arousal a secret for much longer. Panicking, though with a reluctance that lingered, he moved his hand to rest safely at Roger’s plush side.

 

Roger didn’t say anything. Brian drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

.

 

Brian had spent a lot of time wondering where all the weight had come from.

 

There were obvious answers to the question, because it was obvious that Roger had been eating a lot more. Brian woke up late in an empty bed on Sunday morning and meandered into the kitchen to see Roger sat on the bench eating peanut butter out of the jar with a teaspoon. Yes, okay, Brian thought, flushing. The real question was why.

 

Though Roger showed no sign of wanting to quit entirely, he had cut back significantly on smoking compared to when Brian had first met him. Perhaps that had contributed—all the cigarettes had surely curbed Roger’s appetite for a long time.

 

They exchanged good mornings and Brian stole glances as he poured coffee. In only a pyjama shirt and briefs, Roger’s thighs were soft and plump spread across the bench. Absently, he licked at the spoon, eyes fluttering shut in the late morning sunlight that filtered through the window. Brian found his eyes drifting back down to Roger’s thighs. He’d always had naturally skinny legs, but the weight was finally finding its way south it seemed. They looked particularly pretty fighting for dominance on the bench top.

 

Remembering that he was _dating_ Roger, that he had been for _months_ , and in turn that he was allowed to touch him, Brian set his coffee down beside him and placed a hand on Roger’s hip, thumb curling over his thigh. When he leant in to kiss him he tasted like peanut butter and made a small noise like Brian’s mouth was somehow tastier.

 

Brian felt a hand in his hair and grew a little bolder, deepening the kiss just slightly and letting his hand slide down to rest against Roger’s arse. When he pulled away Roger was biting his lip, grinning, his eyes flickering down to Brian’s lips over and over again. All Brian could think of was _soft_ and his body was so overwarm he might as well have been melting.

 

John got his assignment in on time and Freddie decided that to celebrate it was necessary to buy them a bottle of lube. Brian sighed when he saw it because, between these superfluous purchases of Freddie’s and Roger’s weekly peanut butter expenditure, they were poorer students than they honestly needed to be. He wasn’t complaining, though, when that evening he lay with his head propped up against the headboard, lazily pushing back against John’s cock.

 

John’s long, calloused fingers on his hips were adding fuel to the fire in the pit of his stomach and he let out a low moan. Through his lashes Brian watched John panting, long hair tumbling over his sweaty face, and reached out to twist his fingers around it and bring him close. Their mouths met messily and Brian groaned when John took his bottom lip between his teeth.

 

When they eventually pulled apart John got his hand around Brian’s cock and Brian found himself distracted by the sudden jolting of the bed, gazing past John at where Roger and Freddie were both panting. Roger was now riding Freddie, head thrown back mid moan, Freddie’s hands gripping his sides firmly. And with every thrust his belly juddered, soft and pale and begging to be grabbed.

 

Brian came instantly at the sight, gasping, so hard that come hit his own chin. John looked on at him in surprise, pausing for a moment, because oh god he was probably well aware he hadn’t been even close to hitting Brian’s prostate, but then continued to thrust into him. Christ. Brian closed his eyes, heart pounding, and felt John leaning forward to lick the small droplet of semen off of Brian’s face.

 

Brian felt a bit ill. Sometimes that happened after sex, and not just to him either, but this was different. This was all tied up with the nausea of shame, twisting insidiously in his gut. What the fuck was wrong with him? He accepted John’s lips and then John’s little breathy cry when he pulled out and came all over Brian’s abdomen also. His mind was somewhere far, far away. Was he sick? What the fuck was wrong with him?

 

He didn’t say anything while John wiped him down with a damp cloth, and it was clear he thought something might be wrong because he pressed lots of gentle kisses to Brian’s collarbones when he was done. There was a terrible pressure mounting in Brian’s chest, and it only grew worse when he felt the softness of Roger curling up next to him. Brian opened his eyes and Roger was staring up at him, baby blues wide with concern.

 

Brian felt the tears coming and squeezed his eyes shut again. Him getting weepy after sex wasn’t unheard of and he soon had John’s cheek resting against his stomach and Freddie running fingers through his hair. Roger’s arm rested across his chest and he leaned in to kiss Brian’s jaw.

 

“I love you,” he rasped, quiet.

 

But would you if you knew who I really was, Brian thought.

 

.

 

Roger had eaten a rather large portion of the spaghetti bolognese that John had prepared for pre-gig dinner, and now seemed to be thanking him graciously. Straddling John on the couch, Roger was licking lazily into his mouth as John twisted Roger’s hair with one hand and clutched his thigh with the other.

 

They parted as Brian walked in, and Roger grinned at him before returning his attention to John’s neck, pressing kisses all the way down. Brian wasted no time in making his way over, leaning down to capture John’s lips with his as one hand found it’s way to rest at Rogers side.

 

It was… tight, Brian thought, fingers almost imperceptibly pressing into Roger’s stomach. Roger shifted just a little at the movement, pressing further against John. Brian pretended he wasn’t panicking over Roger’s reaction, continuing to kiss John but quickly shifting his hand to Roger’s shoulder. Luckily, at that moment, Freddie walked in—and squawked.

 

“Are none of you ready—and fondling each other _without_ _me_!”

 

“Sorry, Fred,” Roger drawled provocatively, not sorry at all. He leaned back to rest his head against Brian’s thighs.

 

Freddie tried to scowl, but a smile spilled across his face, “All right, you sexy fuckers,” he said, twirling around to exit the room, “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

 

They left in twenty. It was Brian’s turn to drive and he was seated there, drumming his thumbs on the wheel, when Roger opened the passenger side. Looking in the rear view mirror and cursing at their lateness, he had just called out a pained “Are we ready?” when he heard a strange and distinctive snapping sound to his left.

 

He glanced over to Roger and his breath stopped short. Roger’s seemed to have stopped too, because the snapping sound had been the noise of the button coming off of his pants.

 

Brian swallowed, blinking, unable to do anything but stare. The pants had been obviously tight of course on the walk to the van, but clearly Roger sitting down had been too much pressure for them. His belly had surged forward enough for a strip of it to be visible just under his shirt. Brian felt his cheeks begin to burn and Roger, who was wide-eyed, began to stutter out, “I—uhm—”

 

“What’s going on?” Freddie demanded from the back seat.

 

In a horrifying turn of events Brian’s eyes actually met Roger’s. He couldn’t hold the gaze for more than a second before he was looking pointedly away however, out the passenger window. Roger inhaled sharply.

 

“I just… there’s just—”

 

Freddie poked his head over Roger’s seat. “Oh! So there’s been a wardrobe malfunction?”

 

Roger laughed, maybe a tad too loudly. “Uh. Yes.”

 

Before Freddie could say anything else, Brian finally spoke up, hoping he didn’t sound too pained. “Do you want to go back inside and change, Rog?”

 

“God, there’s no time for that, we’re already late as it is!” Freddie insisted, “Brian, dear, step on it. Nobody can see him behind the kit anyway.”

 

“Fred—!”

 

“Your fault, Blondie,” Freddie grinned, giving the side of Roger’s belly a pat before launching himself back into his seat, “Brian!”

 

Brian, who was a frazzled mess, stepped on the gas as if it could make him disappear.

 

“Maybe this is a sign we finally need to put you on a diet, Rog,” Freddie teased as they pulled onto the street.

 

“Oh no you don’t,” Roger grumbled, shifting in place.

 

“I don’t know Roger, I don’t think we can afford to pay to feed you _and_ clothe you at this stage,” quipped Freddie, the grin evident in his voice, “You might have to choose between them.”

 

“Fucking hell, Fred,” breathed Roger, but it didn’t quite sound like annoyance to Brian. It sounded—and Brian was probably hearing things—but it sounded husky like arousal.

 

His heart began to thunder in his ears.

 

.

 

Brian found putting away groceries somewhat calming. There was something pleasantly methodical about it, slotting the items in the right places, settling into the rules and routine and letting his mind wander.

 

He fished through one of the bags and pulled out two packets of Roger’s favourite biscuits. Usually he’d only get the one—they weren’t made of money after all, and there were other packets to buy to assuage the other sides of the best biscuit argument—but he was feeling particularly romantic today. Or something.

 

Putting them in their place, he flattened the now empty bag and moved onto the next. He took out the two bottles of milk and slid them into the refrigerator, then a case of beer and two cheap bottles of wine. Tins of spaghetti and syrupy peaches in the pantry. It took him only about another five minutes to finish the task, and now glowing with satisfaction, he went to investigate who else was in the flat.

 

Brian knew that John had classes, but Roger and Freddie were questions. Freddie was nowhere to be found, but Roger was sat at the desk in his room, notes strewn everywhere.

 

“Hi,” said Brian, opening the door further, and Roger turned to shoot him a grin, greeting him back.

 

Brian made his way into the room and dropped a kiss on Roger’s head. Now that he was closer, something else caught his eye—an enormous glass of what looked like milk. Brian’s brows furrowed. But… they hadn’t had any milk when he left the flat. He’d just put away what he’d bought.

 

“Roger,” Brian stepped back a little, frowning and gesturing towards the glass, “What are you drinking?”

 

Roger blinked at him. “Milk?”

 

But he wasn’t. He couldn't have been. “No, you’re not,” said Brian, folding his arms, “I just went out and bought milk.”

 

“So? I got it just now,” tried Roger, shrugging.

 

“No you didn’t,” Brian said incredulously, “I’ve been in the kitchen since I got back.”

 

“Fucking hell, Brian,” Roger snapped, suddenly scowling, “It’s just milk, okay?”

 

Brian inhaled sharply, scowling back, “Well if it’s just milk then let me try some.”

 

“No!” cried Roger, “It’s mine. Get your own milk.”

 

“It’s not milk!”

 

“It is!”

 

“Well then let me try it!”

 

“Oh, fucking hell—fine!” spat Roger, slamming a hand down on his desk.

 

Irritated, Brian swooped up the glass and brought it to his lips. It only took one sip to identify that it certainly _wasn’t_ milk. It was much thicker, felt strange on his tongue. He took a deep breath, his head beginning to swim because there was nothing in his rational brain that could explain this.

 

“Why are you drinking heavy cream?” Brian asked unsteadily, startling when Roger snatched the glass back, putting it back down on the desk. His face was flushed red and he was staring at the ground, refusing to look at Brian.

 

The silence was excruciating. “Roger?” Brian tried again.

 

Roger blew air out of his cheeks, “Fuck,” he said.

 

“Look, it’s okay,” said Brian, in an attempt at calm, “I’m just a bit confused is all.”

 

There was more silence, enough that Brian thought he might be standing there for an eternity, before finally Roger spoke again, “It’s just that… it’s. Fattening.”

 

“It’s fattening?” Brian’s mouth was dry, “That’s… why you’re drinking it?”

 

Roger groaned and buried his face into his arms where they were crossed over the back of the chair. “Fuck.”

 

“Roger? It’s okay, it’s just—”

 

“Sorry,” came Roger’s muffled voice, “This is just. Really fucking embarrassing, Brian, so can you maybe shut up for two seconds? Please?”

 

Brian obliged, but mostly just because he wasn’t sure what on earth he should say. So Roger was _trying_ to put on weight? Why would he do that? Why was he so embarrassed? God, why was _Brian_ so embarrassed? He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, despairing at the heat of his face.

 

“It turns me on,” muttered Roger, finally.

 

“What does?”

 

“The weight!” Roger spat, “I like it! I think it’s sexy! That’s why I’m drinking heavy _fuck_ ing cream, Brian.”

 

“Oh,” said Brian, because he felt like he should say something after the whirlwind of a tirade. And then, because his head was spinning too much to say anything complex or intelligent, “Me too?”

 

There was silence. A long silence. And then Roger audibly swallowed. “What do you mean?”

 

“Uhm,” said Brian, eyesight swimming with the emotions bubbling up inside of him, dread and horniness and shame and hope. “I also. Think it’s sexy. Very… very sexy.”

 

Roger blinked. “You’re joking,” he said, “You act like you hate it.”

 

Christ. Brian shifted in place awkwardly, realising he had indeed behaved like that. “I was embarrassed.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Thought it was weird.”

 

Roger grinned awkwardly. “I guess that makes two of us.”

 

Brian let out a strange, breathy laugh. Some of the awful cloudiness swarming around his brain began to suddenly lift. In a strange burst of confidence, he gestured towards the cream, “Can you really drink… all of that?”

 

“’S actually my second glass,” said Roger sheepishly, and when Brian looked incredulous, a defensive: “Well I can’t exactly stick the bottle back in the fridge can I? You’re all nosy bastards.”

 

Brian stared at him for a moment, and then glanced at the glass. Something warm was pooling in his gut. “Roger,” he said softly, voice wavering with slight nerves, “Can you drink the cream for me?”

 

He didn’t look at Roger for a few moments out of fear, but fortunately when he finally did Roger’s face was far from contorted with disgust or confusion. Instead, he was biting his lip, eyelids half-lidded. He turned to look at the glass and then finally spoke, “Mhm. Uh. Yes.”

 

Brian’s heart was beating faster and faster as he stood there, watching Roger turn the chair around to face him and take the glass in hand. He was wearing pyjama bottoms that Brian were pretty sure had once belonged to John, and a t-shirt he was pretty sure had once belonged to Brian. A small smile quirked at his lips and Roger smiled back, before laughing nervously.

 

“I’ll just—should I just—”

 

“Yeah,” said Brian uselessly, “Yeah.”

 

Roger breathed in, and then brought the glass to his lips. He’d done so with two hands, but pretty soon one was migrating down to the crest of his belly, gently rubbing back and forth from there down to his side. Brian knew the first of Roger’s inhibitions had gone when he moaned, hand bouncing his soft underbelly. The moans didn’t stop then, a constant stream of them as the cream filled his stomach, stopping only when he pulled the glass away at the halfway point, gasping.

 

Brian was transfixed, and harder than he was sure he’d ever been in his life. Roger wasted little time before continuing, making desperate noises as though he _needed_ this, as though it wasn’t happening fast enough. He slipped the shirt up over his belly, and it looked bigger than ever with his head thrown back and hand splayed across it, gently jiggling it and eliciting another long drawn-out moan. All too soon, the glass was empty and Roger licked the inside of it as far as he could get, breathing heavily, helpless and greedy and Brian wanted nothing more than to touch him.

 

“Can I touch you?” Brian breathed.

 

“Fuck. Yes. Fuck.”

 

With shaky hands, Brian took the empty glass from Roger and set it on the desk. Roger’s eyes were glazed over, and as he licked his lips Brian couldn’t help but to surge forward to kiss him. Roger groaned as Brian let his hand slide down to cup the underside of his tummy with one hand. It was warm and so, so heavy, and Brian licked into Roger’s mouth, tasting cream.

 

Moving away, he knelt down in front of the chair and began pressing kisses to the apex of Roger’s stomach. Within, he could hear angry burbling noises—above, the little ahs coming out of Roger’s mouth, a dizzying mixture of pain and pure, hedonistic pleasure. “So beautiful, Rog,” he murmured, squeezing a plump handful, “So pretty. Greedy. My greedy, pretty boy.”

 

Brian had never been any good at dirty talk, but whatever he was doing, it seemed to be driving Roger crazy. “Fuck,” he breathed, “Fucking hell.”

 

Brian pulled back, both hands resting on Roger’s belly. It was so big and so soft and it rose and fell heavily with each of Roger’s laboured breaths. Little satisfied noises kept slipping past his lips. “Ah. Mhm. Ah.”

 

“The bed?” Brian asked, his cock twitching when Roger’s eyes fluttered shut.

 

“Yes. _F-fuck._ ”

 

Roger didn’t need help to lay himself on the bed, but his belly jostled with the movement. He hiccupped as Brian gently shoved it to the side with one hand, watching it wobble back. His love handles were calling to Brian, and he couldn’t neglect them any longer, taking one in each hand and squeezing gently, biting back a moan at how soft they were. Roger let his own hand come to rest on his stomach as it rose and fell. “God,” he moaned, “Fuck. Bri.” His hand slipped down to apply pressure to his own hard cock, and he gasped, his hips bucking slightly.

 

Brian was unzipping his jeans in an instant, moaning himself and yanking down Roger’s-once-were-John’s pyjama pants. Shaky with anticipation, he wrapped his hand around both of their cocks and jerked them off, slowly at first and then faster at the sound of Roger’s needy cries. It was just over a minute before they both came, first Roger, sobbing, and then Brian, hunching over to mash their lips together, sagging as he rode out his orgasm and not caring about the come smearing between his shirt and Roger’s abdomen.

 

They lay there for maybe a whole two minutes, Brian’s face tucked into Roger’s shoulder, both breathing hard and letting the slow bliss wash over them. Brian’s mind felt so empty, his muscles so relaxed. The tension was bleeding away, the shame forgotten.

 

“What on earth just happened?” Roger let out a breathy laugh.

 

Brian turned his head to plant a kiss on Roger’s soft jaw, inhaling deeply, smiling a little. “Mm. Don’t know. Was good.”

 

“ _So_ good,” said Roger, “Fuck.” And then, after a few more moments of lying there, breathing slowing, “’M tired.”

 

When Brian finally peeled himself off of Roger, crinkling his nose at his come-covered shirt, he did note that Roger looked increasingly sleepy. His eyes fluttered open to look up at Brian, one hand drifting to rest on the side of his belly. Brian’s heart leapt, and he leaned back down to kiss Roger, first on his mouth and then on his cheeks. Then he forced himself to get up and go and find something to clean his lover up with.

 

Once Roger had been wiped down and Brian’s shirt abandoned on the floor, the pair slipped under the covers of Roger’s bed. Roger’s every movement was sluggish with drowsiness, and Brian pulled him close between the sheets. Planted a kiss on the back of his head. Felt himself drifting off to sleep.

 

(And if Freddie or John found the empty glass, neither of them would be ashamed to explain what was once inside.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'then let it look cropped'- an icon ig  
> look i put off writing something like this for months. i so wasn't gonna do it. but i had too many ideas and they weren't letting me write anything else I HAD TO SIN. gah.
> 
> (edit: i'm also replying to comments and i'm lonely, so. hmu, especially if you... don't know how you got here lmao)
> 
> (another edit: there is now a sequel to this fic called [biscuits and pound cake](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19666093), i originally made them into a series but for some reason that showed up on my profile and i’m not ready to be Exposed)
> 
> (i hope this is the last fucking edit: come chat to me on tumblr [@custardqqueen](https://custardqqueen.tumblr.com/))


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